Nearing An End

As the days lengthen, it has turned cool again.  In Presteigne yesterday everywhere seemed to be having a spruce up, a pre-Spring clean, but everyone seemed to be talking about the new cooler weather.  Stepped outside just now to see our afternoon's work; car-lights and farm-light pin-pricking the valley, owls on the hill in the last of the light.  

We spent the afternoon in the garden.  I managed to turn over the third 'new' veg bed, four made from one old large bed.  I am itching to get planting, but it will be another fortnight or a month until we can put anything out.  Gradually we change the garden, change the house; shift the orientation, reuse old rooms, bring old things back into use.  An ancient wicker basket, almost bottomless, cleaned out and lined with heavy plastic, makes an ideal kindling store.  The woodburner heats the house, fire becomes the heart of the cottage once again.  I switch the hall light off going to bed, and the hall is softly filled with firelight. Tolkien's Rivendell has a hall with no light but a permanent fire, a place of flickers and soft glooms, a place for thought and calm.  Every home should have one, at least for some of the time.